Dearest Friend
I find myself falling over trivial matters while I write to you;
Aware of poets and skilful digestion of emotions,
Yet I can create none of my own.
Capturing beauty with words for scholars is a struggle,
Let alone for me – impossible.
For I, my dearest friend, am not the best.
Many more versed, excellent and pure than I.
A mystery as to why an angel would share her beauty with me
Beauty within eyes, nature herself should envy, but wouldn’t dare do so.
Soft strokes create the snowy skin,
Shades of rose paint your lips.
- Waging a war among innocence and impurity.
A masterpiece – He created – framed in gold.
You build up my spirit,
But I still sicken your sweetness with my spite.
- Reminding me that your worth is more than I could ever praise.
Ice resides in your heart,
Yet, kindness praises your warm soul as its home.
How I wish I could toil away those fatal hauntings.
- Once again invoke the joy within your heart.
Darkness submits to your whimsical presence;
Until sadness overpowers your radiance.
- Clawing at shred of light you have left.
Mounds of shadows beckon over your flickering flame.
Even then you aid those imprisoned by suffering;
Being selfless as you are.
- And I undeserving.